alcala0001
10-16-2010, 10:46 AM
I wait in the bushes for Mrs. Howard to come home, ducking down at approaching cars and the few pedestrians that walk down the street. Who's out walking at midnight? Where do you have to go at that hour? Here she comes! She pulls in, swinging her white Mercedes into the driveway, it's blue-white headlamps illuminating my position as I crouch behind the thick hedge. She gets out and strolls to the door, squinting at some post mail in the flourescent porch light. She rattles her keys, trying to find the keyhole and there is a soft clicking sound as the bolt slides open. That's when I step out. I glide behind her and put a large knife to her back, poking her just below the bra strap. "Get in." I tell her, as I push her into the dark house. I lock the door behind us and usher her through the house. The kitchen is the only lit room in the house and we head toward it, the long flourescent tubes casting a bright white light. Mr. Howard is tied to a chair, bound and gagged. We met earlier when he came down for a sandwich.
I prod Mrs. Howard to the edge of the kitchen counter and drag the tip of my knife down her back, enjoying the sound it makes as it slides down. I enjoy her wimpers even more. I grab her arm and spin her around to me, they are wide with terror as she stares wildly into the eyeholes of my ski mask. I glance back and Mr. Howard is as still as stone, a fierce look in his eyes. I put the sharp knife away and reach into my leather jacket. My hand pulls out a long thin rectangle of rosewood and stainless steel. I push a button with my thumb and there is a loud 'snick' as six inches of stiletto blade come out, an inch from her face. Oooh the lovely stiletto. Nothing inspires fear like seeing and hearing that blade spring forth! She doesn't scream. She just trembles and makes that wimpering sound, her eyes wide in terror. This is my dull blade. I dulled it on purpose. A dull blade requires much more force to cut, and if you do manage to cut, it's ragged and messy, not like the clean slice of a sharp blade. I put the cold steel against her neck, twisting and dragging the blade down, letting her feel the edge scrape against her skin. A shudder racks her body and she closes her eyes tight. I slap her face and she opens her eyes again.
I turn her around, back facing me, and I produce a short length of scratchy hemp rope from my back pocket and I bind her nice and tight. I spin her back to face me when I'm done. I lift her chin with the dull stiletto and I tell her that if she moves a twitch I will stab her throat and she will drown on her own blood. She is a statue as I drag the dull tip down her throat, to the hollow of her neck. She's all goosebumps and trembles as my blade works down to her silk shirt. I yank the blade down and away as I pop off a button. Then another. And another. She has her eyes closed tight now, trembling. Mr. Howard hasn't made a sound. Good boy. I push aside the billowy silk and put the cold steel point to her belly, poking it. My stiletto leaves little indents in her flesh as she wimpers. I haven't drawn a drop of blood. I'm not allowed to. I continue to poke her belly, teasing with the dull point.
"PICKLES!" shouts Mrs. Howard. Upon hearing that word, I pull out the sharp knife and march toward her bound and gagged husband. I slide up behind him and the sharp blade arcs down, severing the hemp in one swift motion. He rubs his wrists and removes his gag, then goes to his wife. He unties her as they kiss. They leave the kitchen and I can hear their wet sucking kisses and moans of anticipation as they make their way upstairs. What a lovely couple. The money is in an envelope on the table. I don't need to count it. I lock the door as I leave. Until next week, then.
I prod Mrs. Howard to the edge of the kitchen counter and drag the tip of my knife down her back, enjoying the sound it makes as it slides down. I enjoy her wimpers even more. I grab her arm and spin her around to me, they are wide with terror as she stares wildly into the eyeholes of my ski mask. I glance back and Mr. Howard is as still as stone, a fierce look in his eyes. I put the sharp knife away and reach into my leather jacket. My hand pulls out a long thin rectangle of rosewood and stainless steel. I push a button with my thumb and there is a loud 'snick' as six inches of stiletto blade come out, an inch from her face. Oooh the lovely stiletto. Nothing inspires fear like seeing and hearing that blade spring forth! She doesn't scream. She just trembles and makes that wimpering sound, her eyes wide in terror. This is my dull blade. I dulled it on purpose. A dull blade requires much more force to cut, and if you do manage to cut, it's ragged and messy, not like the clean slice of a sharp blade. I put the cold steel against her neck, twisting and dragging the blade down, letting her feel the edge scrape against her skin. A shudder racks her body and she closes her eyes tight. I slap her face and she opens her eyes again.
I turn her around, back facing me, and I produce a short length of scratchy hemp rope from my back pocket and I bind her nice and tight. I spin her back to face me when I'm done. I lift her chin with the dull stiletto and I tell her that if she moves a twitch I will stab her throat and she will drown on her own blood. She is a statue as I drag the dull tip down her throat, to the hollow of her neck. She's all goosebumps and trembles as my blade works down to her silk shirt. I yank the blade down and away as I pop off a button. Then another. And another. She has her eyes closed tight now, trembling. Mr. Howard hasn't made a sound. Good boy. I push aside the billowy silk and put the cold steel point to her belly, poking it. My stiletto leaves little indents in her flesh as she wimpers. I haven't drawn a drop of blood. I'm not allowed to. I continue to poke her belly, teasing with the dull point.
"PICKLES!" shouts Mrs. Howard. Upon hearing that word, I pull out the sharp knife and march toward her bound and gagged husband. I slide up behind him and the sharp blade arcs down, severing the hemp in one swift motion. He rubs his wrists and removes his gag, then goes to his wife. He unties her as they kiss. They leave the kitchen and I can hear their wet sucking kisses and moans of anticipation as they make their way upstairs. What a lovely couple. The money is in an envelope on the table. I don't need to count it. I lock the door as I leave. Until next week, then.